


through the cracks in heaven

by bowtiesnrocksalt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Help, Just a drabble i guess, Ugh god, it's four in the morning, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowtiesnrocksalt/pseuds/bowtiesnrocksalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so they're legends</p>
            </blockquote>





	through the cracks in heaven

The day before Mary Winchester died they were all out on the porch with tall glasses of lemonade. The night was thick with humid, sticky heat and carried the rich scent of roses to the Winchester’s noses. Mary was seated in her blue-painted rocking chair, nursing her glass of lemonade in her small hand, and her eyes were closed with bliss. Inside John was washing the dishes, humming some old tune that Dean knows but could never seem to remember. Eventually Mary joined in, the soft lilt of her voice drifting through the still air with ease and grace. Sam fell asleep to the sound of it, yawning slightly as he snuggled himself deeper into Mary’s arms as she smiled down at his peaceful expression. Dean was smiling as well, his green gaze fixed on the stars above them. His mother had once said that they were tears in the blanket that separated them from Heaven, and it was how souls got into Heaven. Their spirits piped through the tears in the blanket like smoke through the chimney, and every once in a while, Mary had said, an angel came through. Dean had asked if the angel had been bad and was then cast out of Heaven for it, but Mary simply shook her head with a slight laugh. She said that the angels who fell through the tears in the blanket were good angels, sent to bless those who kept their faith. 

The next night there was fire and Dean couldn't put it out. No matter how many tears he cried, no matter how much he ran and ran and denied it wouldn't go away. His mother burning on the ceiling wouldn't go away and he had to take pills in order to go to sleep just like John. Dean didn't always take them, though, because if he did he wouldn't be able to hear Sammy crying. So most nights he stayed up, sometimes staring at the posters on his wall or taking apart and reassembling the handgun John gave him. When Sammy cried Dean hopped off of his bed and went to scoop him up from his crib. He’d teeter back to his bed, Sam in arm, and he’d lay the small baby in the crook of his elbow and hum nearly forgotten tunes to him until he fell asleep. 

He did this until Sam was old enough for a bed of his own and didn't cry at night like Dean did. But Dean stopped his crying, too, because he was the older brother. He had to be there for Sam, and being a sissy didn't do either of them any good.   
It still doesn't do them any good. 

So Dean keeps it all locked up, saving it for a rainy day when his tears would mingle with the rain and the cold raindrops would calm his irritated skin so when he was dry there was no evidence of his previous crying. Sam knows already, though, because Dean will ball his fists when he cries. He doesn't say anything though. He just talks them through the monsters and the angels. He tells Dean that he’s okay when he’s really not, and he listens as Dean tells him that he’s fine when Sam knows that he’s not. At times Castiel would come charging in, a mess of invisible feathers and electric blue eyes, and Sam would watch as Castiel and Dean spoke and looked at each other. Then Castiel would go away and Dean would look empty but Sam looked away. He considered Castiel a ghost- a being that came and went as it pleased unless the thing that anchored it there was burned or moved. Sam considered it but knew Dean would die if he did and wouldn't come back, so Sam simply became friends with Castiel and settled with that. Eventually the three became brothers over and over again, their relationship and brotherhood shifting more than the face of the earth during an earthquake. It didn't matter though, because they all loved each other. Crowley sometimes was included in the brotherhood despite his blatant idiocy and plain terribleness, but Dean and Sam and Cas know. They know what Crowley has done and they accept him for it, know him for it. Crowley is sometimes grateful, sometimes not- he’s Crowley. 

And now they’re all legends. Now they’re all images on a screen or black letters on a page. Maybe even a story on a screen, but it’s all that they are. Their image curling around hearts of all sorts, squeezing and choking and never letting go because that’s what legends do. That’s what the Winchesters, the angel, and the demon king do.   
It’s simply who they are.


End file.
